Stand By Me
by MildeAmasoj
Summary: AU, set after 5x08. Merlin finds a way to free Gwen from Morgana's spell, but not everything goes like he had planned. Rated T for blood, wounds and because it's season 5. No slash. Heavy on bromance and whump. Reveal!fic. Pairings: Arthur/Gwen and some Merlin/Freya.
1. Prologue

**Hello!**

**So, this is the first time I publish a story un-beta'd, because since I went to London I've decided to test if I'm able to write in English on my own. The updates will be sporadic and I'm actually not sure about where this retort is going, but I've had this idea in my head since March, and I might as well write it down. **

**My second multi-chaptered fic, but it's actually my fifteenth Merlin story and my writing has ****really improved since**** I've started writing, so I will hopefully be able to finish this soon.**

**Summary, information and warnings: It's an AU, set after 5x08, so Gwen is bad at the beginning. Rated T because it's dark-ish and will have lots of blood, wounds and maybe even out-of-body experiences. Oh, and lots of whump and character deaths. Focused on Arthur/Merlin friendship and, since I love it but it's quite unexplored, Merlin/Gwen friendship as well. **

**Pairings: it will surely feature Arthur/Gwen, and most likely have a bit of Merlin/Freya. **

**So, here it comes, the prologue of "Stand By Me" (title from the homonym song by the _Oasis_ and the ons by _John Lennon_)**

**DISCLAIMER: _BBC Merlin_ doesn't belong to me and probably never will, or it would be called _MildeAmasoj's Merlin_ or, simply, _Let's Whump Merlin!_ ****It belongs to _BBC Network_. I only own my ideas and my demented brain.**

* * *

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand, stand by me

_-"Stand By Me", John Lennon_

* * *

Merlin Emrys, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk on earth and the last dragonlord alive, had died.

Well, at least he thought he had. Maybe it was just an illusion or a stupid nightmare. It seemed quite real to him, though.

When he had woken up, that day in Camelot, he had thought it would be good day, despite the various menaces lurking in the shadows. Even the queen - who had betrayed her kingdom and was on Morgana's side, probably against her will - was a danger right now.

That morning he had been woken up by the birds chirping merrily and the sounds of the people of the lower town beginning to work. The sun was shining brightly and it was warm, but there was a refreshing breeze that made it the perfect weather.

He had left his chambers to do his chores with a sprint in his step, despite the pain shooting through his wounded shin every time the stitches pulled. The poison still running through his veins had left his body slightly weaker than the usual, and he had to stop from time to time to regain his breath as he worked. He still felt confident about managing to resolve the problem with Gwen, as he had always done in the past.

Just as the sun began to vanish in the distant horizon, leaving space for the moon to rise high in the dark blue sky, Merlin's thoughts about it being a good day melted away, like water evaporating when exposed to excessive heat.

He decided it would be a bad day in the moment he saw Arthur screaming desperately, his knees in a pool of blood that would stain the marble stones of the castle's floor forever, shaking someone who looked pale, limp and _dead_. Beside the king was his wife; Guinevere seemed to be in a state of shock. The blonde was screaming as loudly as he could something resembling 'Gaius' and 'help'. Or was it _'hell'_?

Frankly, he couldn't care less. For if the queen was shocked, what was he supposed to think? When you're staring at _your own body_ lying in a pool of your blood... Well, that could be a rather... _Striking _experience.

And while Gaius was hastily crouching beside his lifeless body, he already knew it would be too late.

Yes, _definitely_ a bad day.

* * *

_There was flash of golden light, and then a bloodied dagger fell to the ground. _

_A desperate scream broke through the air, mingling with the darkness, and with the fear and pain of the owner of the voice. _

_A dark-skinned woman broke down into tears, crying her eyes out, her hands covered in blood that wasn't hers. _

_A drop of red hit the ground, scarlet staining the white marble like ink on parchment._

_A pale young man fell to the ground, as gently as a leaf in autumn, almost without making a sound. _

_An inhuman creature roared, angered by something that was so utterly wrong and unpredictable that it could not have been foreseen. _

_A blonde man punched the wall with all the strength he possessed, growling in rage, silent tears streaming slowly down his face. _

_A flash of golden light overshadowed everything else, hiding the world from the watcher's eyes. _

_A pale woman with sweet chocolate eyes nodded sadly, a tear sliding down her cheek, before vanishing and becoming one with the water she was standing in. _

_A lake surrounded by mountains appeared, and it was the most beautiful place in the world, rarely seen by human eyes during life. _

_An old man had his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat as they shook with heart-wrenching sobs. _

_Darkness surrounded everything. _

_A little white dragon wailed pitifully like a child in need of its mother's embrace, its blue eyes bright with the equivalent of human tears. _

_A flash of golden light once again. _

_A woman with long and wavy black hair smirked, her parched lips curled up into that twisted __and full of satisfaction smile, making her sunken cheeks appear even more hollow, while her eyes glinted with something akin to joy._

_Darkness ruled over the world._

Morgana Pendragon whipped up in her uncomfortable bed and a dark smile slowly found its way on her face. She hadn't had any visions in a long time, but that one supplied for every one she had missed.

Everything she had to do was wait, hiding in the shadows, until her brother fell. She would finally gain her rightful place on the throne.

Camelot would be hers, and no one would be able to stop her this time.

* * *

(07/23/2013)


	2. Chapter 1

**I received two reviews and, for me, they're a lot. So I decided to update soon. **

**The chapters won't be long and will be over when it feels right. It won't be a long story, I think. probably a round 20k words... I hope...**

**Read the prologue for warnings, pairings and disclaimer. **

* * *

Everything had happened so fast.

_Too fast. _

Merlin had just found a way to 'heal' the queen from the enchantment that Morgana had placed on her. He had knocked on the door of her chambers and had entered without waiting for the answer, knowing that the subject of his thoughts was in there, waiting for the right moment to strike Arthur.

He closed the door behind his back and Gwen turned around hurriedly, placing a sickly - and completely false - sweet smile on her face. She had her hands behind her back, hiding something from his view. "Merlin! To what do I owe the _pleasure_?" she inquired - he had to admit she was quite the good actress. No wonder Arthur hadn't suspected her for a moment - and it had almost costed him his life. But he - contrarily to what Arthur thought - wasn't stupid. He had noticed Gwen's treachery, that she was under some kind of spell, and had found a cure for it.

He stepped forward and looked at the queen, his heart thumping in anticipation and his body still aching from the residue of the poison Morgana had given him less than two days before. He took in a deep breath and locked eyes with the woman - her eyes, once warm and full of kindness, were now completely hollow. "Why are you doing this, Gwen?" he asked. "Why would you try to kill Arthur? We both know he loves you more than anything in this world. And I know that you love him _with all_ _your heart_."

The former maid dropped any pretenses, her smile turning into a smirk. "Are you sure, Merlin? Because last time I checked, when you love someone, you don't try to _kill_ them, do you? Maybe I'm just tired of him."

He shook his head, not believing her words. She was definitely not the real Gwen; she would have never said something like that. "Morgana has enchanted you. You're not in your right mind, my lady," he explained and took another step towards her, carefully - as if he were approaching a wild beast, ready to attack him but waiting for the right moment, for him to show his weaknesses.

Guinevere let out a brief and humorless laugh, inching closer towards him with a strange glint in her eyes. "Oh Merlin, poor, ingenue, _useless_ Merlin... You don't believe Arthur's sweet Gwen could ever get tired of him, do you? Not even when she has tried to kill him and blame _you _for his attempted murder. You're such a _fool_, and he's just a mindless man who wants a queen to show around like a trophy, nothing more."

The young man winced at her words, not because they were true, but for the utterly wrongness of what she was saying. "No, you don't mean that," he whispered, taking another step forward and repeating the spell in his mind for the thousandth time.

They were circling each other like two animals did - their senses sharp and their muscles tensed - waiting for the other to attack first and avoid being caught unaware. "Alright, maybe Arthur really loves me. But I don't love him, so it doesn't change anything. I was never his, and never will be. I'm going to kill him soon, and you won't be able to do anything but _watch him die_," she said, spelling the last three words slowly to emphasize them and walking to stand at arm's length from him. "You see this?" she asked, showing him a richly engraved dagger - the one Arthur had given her on their last anniversary, beautiful to the eye but still perfectly useful in defending, attacking, and eventually _killing_. "This is what will kill Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin shook his head, swallowing in fear - not for himself, but for his king's wellbeing. He knew he couldn't hurt the woman, for the real Gwen would be hurt as well, but he knew that he had to do something. Even though he was armed with the spell, his tongue ready to pronounce it, he still felt insecure about it. He shook his head, knowing that it was his last chance to save everyone. "Not if I stop you," he whispered, taking ahold of her arm, his grip firm and tight enough to keep her in place but not to hurt.

His other hand flew to her forehead, and he closed his eyes in concentration, beginning to recite the words of the strong spell he had found in his book, feeling the warmth of his magic stirring in his chest. _"Yfel gæst ga þu fram þisse lichaman. Biþ hire mod eft freo. Ar ond heofontungol..."_

As he opened his glowing eyes and a golden light encased them both for the shortest of moments, something else happened, something he had considered - an obstacle to his plan - but without really thinking about the consequences. Guinevere, thinking she was being attacked by him - and _this_ evil Guinevere probably was - tried to defend herself with the dagger.

The blade stabbed him just below his heart, sliding swiftly between his ribs. Burning plain exploded in the left side of his chest but, gritting his teeth against the pain, he managed to end the spell. _"...sceal þurhswiþan!"_

He stepped back, bringing a hand to his wound, blood spilling through his fingers but focusing his attention on the woman before him.

The smirk dropped from her face, replaced by a frown. She looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Merlin?" she breathed, blinking quickly to clear her blurred vision.

"_Gwen_? Is it really you...?" he asked tentatively, wanting to be sure his spell had worked. If it hadn't, he wasn't sure he would be able to do anything else.

She nodded quickly and gave him an uncertain smile, her memories still not clear - but she could remember being trapped into herself while someone commanded her will and her actions. "Yes," she whispered almost reverently, knowing _Merlin _had been the one to save her - she didn't know how, but he had, and she was grateful.

The servant's eyes widened and he grinned, knowing his friend was back. A wave of dizzying relief overthrew him for a moment, and he almost laughed. But the movement jolted his ribcage and he was painfully reminded of his wound. He gasped, his eyes trailing down to look at his bloodied and trembling hand, which was unsuccessfully trying to stem the hemorrhage. It took no more than a whimper for him to fall to the ground, in the growing pool of his own blood.

The last thing he heard was the queen's horrified and scared scream, along with the sound of the dagger clattering to the ground and her knees hitting the marble floor.

Her desperate pleas for him to stay awake faded into nothingness as an impenetrable darkness dragged him into oblivion.

* * *

(07/23/2013)


	3. Chapter 2

**So, here's the second chapter!**

**I have good news for you; I have the whole plot ready and the chapters planned! Yay!**

**So it's just a matter of time before this story is finished. **

**Oh, I added the spell Merlin used on Gwen in the last chapter. It's the same used in the show: ****_"Yfel gæst ga þu fram þisse lichaman. Biþ hire mod eft freo. Ar ond heofontungol sceal þurhswiþan" _****that means ****_"You, evil spirit, go away from this body. Her mind is free again. Glory and the heavenly luminary shall prevail". _****I took it from Merlin Wikia.**

**I'm warning you: my medical experience is comparable to that of a donkey. So if you notice something impossible happening here, tell me and I'll try to change something. **

**Oh, there's a description of a wound here, but it's nothing too gory, believe me. **

**I hope you'll like this chapter, even if there's an awful lack of Merlin... Well, it's centered around the other people. **

**There will probably be some mistakes, since this story is not beta'd and I'm not a native English speaker. ****I hope you'll like it anyway.**

* * *

If someone asked him, Arthur Pendragon would have said that he was having a good day.

For once, there had been no attack from Morgana or from other sorcerers, no declares of war or any kind of threat to Camelot in general. The morning had passed almost placidly, between a long and boring meeting and the training with the knights. Before he could think about it, the moon was rising and the sky was darkening.

He was walking through the corridors, directed to his chambers and ready for a relaxing sleep, when the calmness he had felt throughout the day abruptly slipped from his hands. The silence of the castle, interrupted only by the occasional clang of his armor, was shattered by the sound of a bloodcurdling scream.

He stopped in his tracks, hoping against hope that his mind was playing tricks on him, when he heard another yell, and he began to run towards the voice. He had recognized his wife's voice - her screams were loud and desperate, and he was sure he had never been so scared in his life. He reached their chambers - recognizing it as the place from where Guinevere's voice came from - quickly and ready for the worse, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him.

The queen was lying in a pool of blood, crying and sobbing and _screaming_ her throat sore, and was bent over someone who laid still and pale on the once unmarked marble floor. Someone who had a mop of black hair and a brown jacked and a red neckerchief around his neck. Someone who looked like his idiot manservant, like _Merlin_, and who looked close to death.

The sword he had unsheathed, ready to defend his queen from an eventual attacker, slipped from his shaking hands and clattered noisily on the floor, hitting the ground at the same time his knees did. He reached Guinevere and Merlin, crawling over to them in the span of a heartbeat.

The woman was whispering something between her sobs, and he couldn't understand what she was saying, but her tone reminded him of the one normally used to apologize, even if it was highly improbable - _what would she be sorry for?_

He quickly discarded those useless thoughts and directed his attention to the other occupant of the room, who was shuddering on the floor, his brow scrunched up in agony. He would open his eyes from time to time - but those bright blue orbs were unfocused, unseeing, already glassy with fever.

After taking a moment to compose himself, he gently removed Guinevere's bloodstained hands from Merlin's chest and put his own shaking ones on it, pressing firmly on the deep cut, trying to stop his servant's lifeblood from pouring out of him. He swallowed the lump of fear that had formed in his throat and looked at the queen, who had ceased sobbing but was staring into nothing, lost in her own mind, while silent tears continued to mark her flushed cheeks like scars.

Her screams had probably alerted the guards - who were near the chambers, but not enough to violate their rulers' privacy - and they burst through the doors with their swords raised. They stopped when they found the two royals covered in blood - but seemingly otherwise unarmed - and looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Arthur almost threw a fit in witnessing their awfully slow and completely inadequate behavior - he began shouting for them to call the physician, cursing colorfully during all the time they spent out of the room, obeying to his orders.

Gaius arrived after a few minutes - they had seemed _centuries _to him - running towards them as fast as he could. He crouched beside the servant, his old joints cracking in such a way Arthur couldn't help but flinch at the sound, while the old man could only hear the sound of the rasping breaths of the young man who was like a son to him.

The physician quickly examined his vitals before taking a look at the injury. While he seemed calm on the outside, the shaking of his hands demonstrated that he, too, was scared. He declared that he had to stitch the wound and clean it, but he couldn't do it on the floor, so Arthur readily offered his own bed to him.

While Gaius worked, the room filled with confused guards and concerned knights, whom the blonde threw out with a couple of words and a long list of threats.

Once it was just them - him, his wife, the physician and the unconscious servant - he kept himself busy first taking care of Guinevere, who was still in shock, leading her to sit on a chair before the fire, and then beginning to pace incessantly and in a slightly irritant way.

Gaius finished quickly and turned around - not before laying a tender hand on Merlin's head and running it through the raven locks in a comforting and affectionate gesture. He sighed and took a wooden chair, placing it near the bed and collapsing onto it, exhausted. Arthur sat down on the floor next to him, his back resting on the bedside table.

"Gaius?" he called, uncertain and _hating_ with all himself the slight shake of his voice - he wasn't weak, he wasn't scared and he was definitely _not going to cry over a servant_. "How is he?"

The old man sighed again and to Arthur he seemed a thousand years older than a few hours prior. "It's difficult to say," he began, "his condition is extremely severe. The dagger has grazed his left lung, creating a tiny hole in it, and causing an abnormality in his respiration. If the air escapes from the lung and into the chest around the lung, the lung can collapse inside the chest. Then, there is the blood loss, quite severe on its own. A small quantity of blood might have entered through the hole, and it may cause an infection," he explained, placing a wet rag on Merlin's forehead to lower his temperature.

"But he'll be alright," Arthur said, and his words were more of a question than an affirmation - he had wanted to sound sure and strong but he hadn't quite managed it.

Gaius lowered his head, making the blonde's heart skip a beat in fear. "As I told you, it's difficult to say. We have to wait until he wakes up," he replied, and the unspoken _"if he wakes up"_ went unnoticed by neither.

But they had to hope Merlin did - for his own sake, because he just deserved it - for Guinevere's, who was almost unrecognizable in her grief and fear - and for their own, because they would probably never recover from his death.

So there they stayed - the old man slumped on a wooden chair, the queen staring at the fire in shock and the king sitting on the cold floor - waiting for a lowly servant and a loyal friend to wake up.

* * *

**What Gaius explains about lungs is actually true. If you think that it's strange that a medieval physician knows so many things, Gaius is omniscient in my head-canon. Oh, and there are _potatoes_ in Camelot, so screw historical accuracy. **

* * *

(07/26/2013)


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the long wait! But, _finally_, the third chapter is here!**

**I wanted to post it before I left for Greece... I wrote half the chapter while I was on my boat. ****Don't worry, even if I'm on holiday, I won't stop writing. The next chapter is ****already half completed.**

**I had to write this chapter three times; I hope you'll like it!**

* * *

It had been three days since Arthur had brought Merlin to the physician's chambers.

After a few hours the servant had spent laying unconscious in the king's bed, he had showed the signs of developing a fever. Gaius had declared that it would be easier for him to treat his young charge in his own room, for he had all the tools he needed there - not to mention that the familiarity of the place could help Merlin recover more quickly.

The old man had inspected once again the wound and had noticed - much to his surprise and displeasure - the settling of an infection, despite the great care with which he had bandaged the warlock's chest. This development could very well cost Merlin his life, for if the internal damage could be healed and the blood flow staunched, they had no way to know that the warlock would be able to overcome the illness.

Gaius knew that if Merlin survived the first night, he would have a better chance at living. But after two long days of nothing but heavy breathing and twitchy fingers, he had begun to lose hope.

That was what Arthur thought, at least. The old man would never really give up on the servant, on the man who was like a son to him - and if he did, he would never forgive himself. Nor would he ever say aloud that he was losing hope. He wouldn't admit it - not to him, the king, who viewed Merlin as the troublesome younger brother he had never had (not that he would ever say it) and who needed the warlock beside him - not to the queen, who had just lost her brother and whose face still bore the signs of her grief.

When Arthur had noticed how the physician - who had probably slept poorly during those three days - looked exhausted, he had decided to keep vigil on Merlin in Gaius' place for a short time, to give the old man a chance to rest.

There he was, slumped on a wooden (and extremely uncomfortable) chair, wiping Merlin's clammy brow with a wet rag. From time to time his gaze would fall upon Guinevere's sleeping form; the queen was half-lying on the bed on which her friend laid, tear tracks still evident on her cheeks, holding tightly - even while asleep - the young man's pale hand.

Arthur had been mildly surprised by the woman's reaction to Merlin's condition - she had been a nervous wreck for the first few hours - though, in hindsight, he understood why he shouldn't have; so soon after Elyan's funeral, the servant's almost-death was bound to scare her terribly.

Ah, that was what confused him the most; he still didn't know _how _Merlin had ended up in his state. The only one who could know about what had happened was the queen.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Guinevere, who had slightly shifted. She groaned softly and opened her eyes, liking around dazedly, trying to take in her surroundings. When her eyes fell upon Merlin's sleeping form she stiffened and stood up, pouring herself a glass of water with shaking hands.

"Guinevere?" called Arthur hesitantly, not knowing how to react to her sudden tension.

The woman turned around and swallowed when she locked eyes with her husband. "Arthur," she choked out. "There's... something you should know."

Her words put him on edge, but he didn't know why. She had been behaving strangely for some time, but he had thought it was because of the grief she had felt due to her brother's death. Was there something more to it, something he hadn't noticed? "What is it?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The queen began to torment her purple dress, twisting the rich fabric with her hands, while biting her lip in anticipation. "I-It was me. M-Merlin... It was me who stabbed him," she explained, closing her eyes in the vain hope to block the images dancing before her eyes. _Merlin looking at her, grinning... Merlin falling on the ground in a pool of blood. The bloodied dagger in her hand..._ She shook her head.

Arthur looked at her wide-eyed. "What...?" he breathed, incredulous. _No, it can't_ _be_, his heart seemed to whisper. Had she really...?

Guinevere's brown eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry! I was under Morgana's control, I was enchanted, I didn't want to hurt Merlin! Please, Arthur, you have to believe me! I'm sorry..." she explained through her silent tears. "I'm _so_ sorry..."

She stopped talking when she found herself enveloped in a warm hug. "I believe you, Guinevere," he whispered, stroking her dark hair tenderly. She returned the hug eagerly, gripping the back of his shirt with her hands as she sobbed. Arthur continued to hold her, soothing her, until her cried subsided. He gripped her shoulders firmly and locked eyes with her, opening his mouth to say something - but he was interrupted by a low moan.

He turned around, followed by the queen, and dropped to his knees beside Merlin, who was trashing in his bed, his forehead glistening with sweat. He was whimpering pitifully, his brow scrunched up in fear.

_Nightmares_, was Arthur's first guess - and he was uncomfortably reminded of Morgana's cries when she used to come to him, of all people, seeking solace in his brotherly embrace.

And then, as suddenly as lightning flashed in a sunny day, Merlin whipped up in his bed with a yell. One of Gaius' glass vials shattered in thousands of little pieces, that flew in every direction. Guinevere yelped in fright and Arthur's eyes widened in shock, while Merlin's gaze travelled around the room in confusion.

He locked eyes with the king and gasped in fear. He bolted out of the bed, scrambling backwards until he ended up with his back pressed on the wall, panicking. "I'm a monster..." he whispered, his fearful eyes staring into nothingness. "I'm a_ monster_..."

His eyes - with speckles of gold still glowing in them - rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a _thud._

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN DUUUUN! Reveal-time! **

* * *

(08/03/2013)


	5. Chapter 4

**What is this?! An ****_update_****?**

**Yes, it is! ****_Finally!_**

**I'm sorry for the wait, but I'm in Greece on my boat and writing isn't easy... And neither is publishing...**

**Uhm, anyway. I'm sure the last chapter left you confused... At least it left ****_me _****confused. So, here comes the explanation in something akin to Merlin's POV! The fourth chapter!**

* * *

Unknowingly to Arthur, who had just blindly guessed, Merlin _was _having nightmares.

As his body fought against the fever, his mind was overcome by dreams. More specifically, some of them _were _nightmares - Arthur hating him, Arthur burning him, Arthur killing him, or the worst, Arthur _dying_ - and others were happy dreams - Arthur accepting his magic, Morgana not betraying Camelot, his father being alive, _Arthur accepting his magic!_

And then came the last - which was neither a nightmare nor a dream.

* * *

Merlin was floating in darkness.

He didn't know where he was, or how he had ended up in that Godforsaken place, or even if he was still alive. He couldn't feel anything but his magic, humming softly in his weightless body.

He opened his eyes, and noticed for the first time a tiny sphere of golden light, gently hovering before him. He extended his hand to touch it, and was pleasantly surprised by the warmth that the light emanated. It was wonderful, it was like touching the very essence of _Magic_, so pure and raw, powerful yet gentle... Was that light his own magic? It was breathtaking.

"_Merlin_", an ethereal voice whispered, startling him and pulling him out of his reverie.

He turned around, finding a dark-haired woman with pale skin and sweet chocolate eyes looking at him, her lips pulled into a fond and nostalgic smile. "Freya," he murmured reverently. "Is it really you? What is this place?"

The woman inched closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Merlin, we do not have long. We are inside your mind - or should I say, inside _you_. I am here to warn you; Arthur will soon know of your magic. It is the punishment of the Triple Goddess for defying her," she explained, her kind eyes clouded with concern.

Merlin's brow furrowed in confusion. "But... Isn't Mordred being alive enough of a punishment?" he inquired, fear and dread crawling at his heart.

Freya shook her head. "That is Arthur's punishment. This is _yours_. Your secret is about to come out, and the weight of handling the consequences lays upon your shoulders."

The warlock was at a loss and swallowed the lump in his throat. "What can I do?" he choked out, suddenly feeling cold.

The woman shook her head, sighing. "I am sorry. I cannot help you with that. There is... something else you should know," she began, stopping to bite her lip. "The knife which hurt you, the one the queen wanted to kill Arthur with... It was given to her by Morgana. It was cursed by dark magic; no living being - mortal or not, magical or non-magical - can survive its touch, not even_ you_. I am sorry, but... there is no way to save you."

Her words were like a punch in his gut; it wasn't everyday that he had to face so many shocking revelations, but that one probably overcome every other. "I'm... _dying_?"

She stroked his face comfortingly, a tear slipping out of her eye. "I am _so_ sorry, Merlin," she whispered.

He placed his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers and desperately seeking comfort. He closed his eyes, knowing he had to be strong. "And how can I protect Arthur, if I am to die?"

Freya squeezed his fingers when she noticed the slight tremble in his voice. "Do you know what _'Emrys'_, your name, means? In the language of the Druids, it means _'to ever_ _live'_. That was what you were destined to do; after Arthur died, you should have lived forever, waiting for him until he came back-"

Merlin interrupted her with a choked gasp. "I was destined to be _immortal_?" he inquired, unbelieving.

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat when she saw the horror in his blue eyes. "Morgana has dwelled with things she cannot possibly understand, and that has caused a change in Destiny itself. You will join me in Avalon, Merlin, but fear not - for that day will come when everything is over, when Arthur does not need you anymore."

He looked at her and closed his eyes to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "What happens, now?" he whispered softly, slightly comforted by Freya's presence.

The woman stroked his dark hair. "I am going to give you some of the Sidhe's magic. It will keep you alive for as long as it is needed. Your body will heal, more quickly than it should, but you have to remember that your time is counted. I cannot do more than this."

He nodded and embraced her tenderly, still dazed. "It's alright. Thank you. You don't know how much I'm grateful for your help," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just tell me one more thing; what will be Mordred's role in all of this?"

She untangled herself from his grip and stared into his eyes. "His destiny is to kill Arthur, and it has not changed. It is _yours_ that is shifting, Merlin, and believe me when I say that it might not be for the worst."

He knew what she meant; he should have been _immortal_, and the fact that he wouldn't be wasn't a _small_ mercy. Immortality was a curse in his eyes, a fate worse than death - having to watch _everyone_ he loved die... He couldn't, for the life of him, imagine how anyone could live with a burden like that.

He opened his mouth to ask something more, when the golden light he had seen after his awakening began to glow brightly, until it overshadowed the darkness surrounding him. "Freya!" he yelled, having to cover his eyes from the bright light. "Freya!"

Her voice was the last thing he heard before he was dragged into oblivion.

_"Good luck, Merlin."_

* * *

Merlin whipped up in his bed with a yell, his eyes flashing bright gold. He heard the sound of glass shattering and a woman's voice yelping, frightened by something. He looked around the room, confused, trying to gather his surroundings, aware of the fact that he had just used magic.

When he locked eyes with a familiar-looking blond man, his horrified expression blended with the words of the woman in his dream and he gasped, panicking. He bolted out of bed, overwhelmed by an inexplicable fear, and crawled backwards until his back was pressed on the wall.

His eyes were staring into nothingness as the blonde's face flashed again in his mind, and something emerged into his memories.

_Immortal. He was immortal._

That was the only thing that was clear to him, and in the haziness of his fever, he didn't completely remember Freya's words or understand _why_ Arthur was shocked. He didn't think twice about the fact that he was lucky to be alive, or that he wasn't immortal anymore, or that the king had just found out that he had magic.

_Immortal._

Why wasn't anyone helping him? He didn't want to live forever! He was scared, and no one would help him... _Why wasn't anyone helping him?_

"I'm a monster," were the words that left his lips. "I'm a _monster_..."

He felt the strength leave him, and he knew no more.

* * *

**Ah, Freylin. *sighs dreamily***

**I don't know why, but Freya always manages to appear in my stories. Well, she's doesn't speak in riddles as Kilgharrah does.**

**So, I hope it wasn't ****_too_**** confusing. And if Merlin's line of thoughts seems strange, remember that he has a fever and he's confused and scared.**

**Oh, and this chapter was slightly longer than the others! *dances happily***

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed! I love you all!**

* * *

(08/06/2013)


	6. Chapter 5

**I know, I know. I'm terribly late. **

**But... Greece... The Heart of Camelot... Doctor Who... Other fics... Got carried away. Sorry. **

**Anyway, here's the next chapter and, finally, a part of Arthur's reaction. And we finally begun to get in line with the real pisodes. **

**Funny fact! I just watched "The Darkest Hour, Part 1" with my brother and when I explained him why Morgana was killing Morgause, he said: "Always with the dead! They always disturb the dead... First with that skeleton army, then with those who couldn't die... They should let the dead rest in peace and mind their business!" Needless to say, I couldn't stop laughing. It's interesting to know his opinions. I'm making him become a Merlinian :')**

**Alright, on with the chapter! **

* * *

Complete and utter silence hung between them; you could have heard a needle fall as the three (conscious) occupants of the room stared at the young servant.

Merlin laid on the ground, shivering because of the fever, oblivious to the reactions his magical outburst had caused. Gaius was swallowing compulsively, his withered hands shaking as he stared at his feet. Guinevere had fallen on her knees and kept looking between the unconscious form of her best friend and her husband.

Arthur hadn't moved a muscle; his eyes were burning holes into the wall in front of him, his fists clenching and unclenching in rage, his lips locked into a frown. It felt like his world had stopped in the same moment Merlin's eyes had glowed gold. There was no space for doubts; Merlin - the bubbling fool, the clumsy servant, the cherished friend - was a _sorcerer_.

While his mind processed - quite slowly, mind you - the idea and tried to adjust to it (Merlin was a _sorcerer!_) his body decided to act on its own. His legs dragged him towards the servant's shivering frame and his arms - rough and uncaring, for the sky would fall before a Pendragon cared for a _sorcerer_ (and that was what he kept repeating to himself) - picked him up, shoving him over his shoulder and lowering him onto the sickbed.

Once the _sorcerer_ was settled, Arthur backed away from him, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Merlin was muttering in his restless sleep; most of the things he was saying were words with no sense whatsoever (or, he guessed, were words in the language of the Old Religion). What he could understand were the constantly repeated 'Arthur', 'Freya', 'lake', 'magic', 'destiny' and _'monster' 'monster' 'monster'_.

The last word sounded wrong coming from Merlin's lips, though he couldn't fathom why he would be concerned about a _sorcerer_. Maybe it was the thought that no man should think of himself as a monster, or maybe he hated that it was Merlin, of all people - sweet, kind, _traitorous_ Merlin, the man he had considered a friend, a _brother_ - who had uttered that word.

But that was what he was, wasn't he? A monster, an abomination, a creature that shouldn't have existed and that was _evil_ - he was all that, wasn't he? He was evil, wasn't he?

_Wasn't he?_

* * *

While Arthur tormented himself with thoughts about Merlin's supposed treachery, an old woman - a sorceress going by the name of Finna - walked through the woods, holding tightly in her hands a tiny silvery box. At the first look, it seemed quite useless - maybe someone could gain something from selling it, but no more than a few coins - and it was, actually; what it was hidden inside it, the message it contained was what really mattered.

No one had ever opened that box, not since the day the powerful magician Taliesin had written - of his own hand, his eyes glowing gold while he transcribed Destiny's judgement - the prophecy of the battle of Camlann, the place where the Golden King of Albion was destined to die, felled by the sword of a traitor.

But Finna - and the message Taliesin had written for Emrys - would never reach Camelot, for she was caught by the red-caped knights before she did, and arrested with the accuse of sorcery.

She would be hanged the morning after it, a quiet death for a quiet woman. In the exact moment she was killed, her master - Alator - died by Morgana's hand.

The tiny silvery box would be opened by a knight, and the papers would be thrown into a fire, consumed by the burning flames that had been, for years, the most feared fate of any sorcerer.

And the words meant to be read by Emrys, a possible help for him to face more readily the battle of Camlann... They became ashes.

_Let loose the hounds of war,_

_let the dreadfire of the last Priestess_

_rain down from angry skies,_

_for brother will slaughter brother,_

_for friend will murder friend,_

_as the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann,_

_the prophets do not lie,_

_there, Arthur will meet his end,_

_upon that mighty plain._

_Let the blood of the traitor be shed_

_and stain the battlefield,_

_let the coldhearted witch beg for mercy,_

_let the great Destiny cry out in anguish_

_when the almighty Emrys follows his king_

_in the golden realm of Avalon._

* * *

Even though Merlin had awakened for some time - and had created quite the commotion with his magical outburst - Gaius still couldn't be sure that the young man would be alright.

Not only because of his critical condition, which had worsened when he had used magic - no, the old man was concerned about the emotional state of his ward, too. For what would he think, _when_ (and he ignored the 'if' that danced into his mind) he woke up? When he found out that he had unwillingly revealed to Arthur his magic and that the king had yet to decide his fate, what would he do?

Arthur had reacted surprisingly calmly to Merlin's outburst, but that was by no means a good thing; it could mean that he was considering the situation, or that he was confused and cared, or that he was too angry to have any other kind of reaction. Gaius shuddered at the thought.

Unbeknownst to the physician, the young king - despite his calm appearance - was in the middle of an inner thunderstorm. A war between his mind and his heart, with the first telling him to kill the sorcerer without mercy and the second begging him to trust and forgive his _friend_.

What should he do? Forgive Merlin and continue with his life, ignoring the fact that his manservant had _magic_, seemed such a simple solution... But, alas, the easiest road is often that which leads astray.

Should he just turn around while the man was executed for his crimes? Hanged, drowned, _burned_ - should he just watch him squirm in his bonds trying to escape an unavoidable death? And would he be able to live with himself after betraying Merlin in such a terrible way?

That seemed an even more unlikely scenario than him accepting the servant's magic. But what could he do?

He let his head fall into his hands and gripped his own hair tightly in the vain hope that he would receive a divine message with the answers he needed.

He sighed and shook his head.

What was he going to do?

* * *

(08-21-2013)


	7. Chapter 6

**I'm terribly late, sorry. School begins next week and I had my summer homework to do (which I still haven't finished) and then I had to catch hip with some fics I haven't had time to read previously. **

**The good thing is that this chapter is the longest until now and I like the result. Strange. I usually hate my chapters. **

**Thanks for the bottom of my heart to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed. I love you, guys, seriously. **

**Enough with the ramble. Enjoy!**

* * *

It turned out that the answer to Arthur's inner question had not been really difficult to reach. The answer would always be the same, after all.

No matter what happened, he would _never_ be able to intentionally harm Merlin. The man was kind - sometimes ridiculously so - and much too loyal for his own good. He always tried to see the good in everyone and would oppose to anyone harming even a _rabbit_. Yeah, that was the exact definition of _'evil'_, wasn't it?

Arthur had though about it for a long time - Merlin kept being lazy and hadn't woken up once in the two days prior - and he had reached the conclusion that the servant couldn't be evil. That comforted him slightly, at least.

So, if he wasn't evil, he simply was completely and utterly _idiotic_. Why in Avalon had he decided to practice magic in Camelot, of all places?

That being said, his mental affliction wouldn't spare him the _long_ discussion Arthur planned to have with him - he had, after all, disobeyed to the laws of Camelot and committed treason, but he had, most of all, _lied_ to him and had hidden his magic from him for almost eight years.

That was what pained Arthur the most - that Merlin hadn't _trusted _him with his secret, not even after his father had died and he had become king. And while Merlin knew everything about him, Arthur couldn't say that he really knew _anything _about the servant. What if everything that made Merlin, well, _Merlin_, had been nothing but a carefully constructed lie? What if everything the warlock had told him when he needed comfort had been just a way to get close to the king, without really caring about him, but just about his title?

He couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure about anythinganymore, and he needed Merlin to wake up and _answer to those questions, damn it!_

That was why, when Merlin finally woke up, the first thing his bleary eyes saw was the angry and somewhat hurt face of the king, looking him with a stern look.

"You and I need to talk."

The servant's brow furrowed in confusion and he sat up slowly, gazing around the room, a hand wiping away the sweat glistening on his clammy brow. His eyes settled once again on the king's serious face, and he had to swallow against the inexplicable uneasiness he was feeling. "What happened?" he rasped out, his throat dry and voice croaky from lack of use. He winced when he tried to move, being painfully reminded of his wound. He remembered getting hurt, but his memories were still confused.

Arthur didn't answer right ahead, instead he stood up and poured some water into a goblet, offering it silently to the other occupant of the room.

They were in Merlin's tiny room, since Gaius had declared it would be better for the young man to have some privacy - which couldn't be possible if he stayed in the main part of the physician's quarters, often visited by the old man's patients. Said man had left them alone in Merlin's room, giving them the chance to speak freely once the wounded servant awakened. Guinevere had left, as well, for she had her duties as queen to attend to. They had both looked at Arthur intensely, daring him to harm Merlin or to wrong him in any way during their absence.

The young king was currently offering the goblet to his manservant, who smiled tentatively at him, grateful. Arthur didn't return the smile.

The cool water trickling down Merlin's throat tasted as sweet as milk and honey to him, but he knew better than to swallow it too quickly, aware that it would just make him sick. As soon as he was done drinking, he slumped back on the bed, tired even after those few minutes of consciousness. He was visibly exhausted, but he stubbornly refused to sleep, knowing that he had to understand what was happening.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Merlin's heavy breathing. The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

It was Arthur who broke the painful stillness of the room with a long sigh. He raised his head and locked eyes with Merlin for the first time since his awakening - he hadn't been able to look at him directly until then. "Why would you betray me, Merlin?" he asked quietly, some kind of twisted disappointment etched on his face.

The warlock's eyes widened comically as he shook his head. "I would _never _betray you, Arthur," he answered, his voice surprisingly steady despite his weakness.

The blonde sighed again, dropping his gaze to the ground for he shortest of moments before he raised his head again. "Don't lie to me. Merlin, I... I know. I know about your... _curse_," he whispered, his eyes surprisingly bright.

Merlin was even more confused, if it were possible. The last word made him remember things he had buried deep inside his heart, and he had to close his eyes against the wave of grief that threatened to overtake him.

_"Magic doesn't have to be a curse. It can be a gift."_

His own words from so long ago comforted him slightly, lulling him into a false sense of security. Maybe Arthur wasn't referring to his magic, because magic wasn't a curse - in his eyes, at least. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.

The feeble thread of hope he so desperately held onto was destroyed by the king's next words. "You're a sorcerer," the royal breathed, having still not come to terms with the revelation.

Merlin could have denied it. He _should_ have, really. But Arthur's eyes were unsure and full of poorly concealed fear, and yet there was still some kind of foolish hope in them. It was what made Merlin's resolve crumble - Arthur wanted to believe that he _wasn't _a sorcerer, that he _hadn't _betrayed him. But he had, really, and he couldn't bring himself to lie again, not when the king was so vulnerable.

He nodded, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, ashamed - not of who he was, but of his many lies and constant deception.

Something in Arthur's eyes broke in that moment, when his fears were confirmed - as if the ground under his feet had just crumbled and he had nothing left to hold himself upright. "Why?" he choked out, faced for the thousandth time by the betrayal of someone he trusted - _had_ trusted.

"For you, Arthur. Only for you - _always _for you," Merlin replied, gripping the white sheets of his bed tightly, his heartbeat quickening in anticipation.

The blonde sighed. "Don't blame me for your treachery," he said, but the threat sounded pitiful even to his own ears.

Merlin shook his head, a grim smile on his pale face. He fought against the urge to close his eyes and sleep forever, focusing his attention completely on the man in front of him. "It is my destiny - it has always been, and it will always be - to protect you, Arthur. I was _born _with magic. It's a part of me, as I'm a part of it. And I've been gifted with these powers to keep you safe," he explained slowly, his hands twisting the white fabric of the bed sheets.

"My magic is connected to you, it can _feel _you - if you didn't exist, I'm fairly sure that I wouldn't exist either, or at least I wouldn't have magic. You see, Arthur, together we are Destiny, you and I. Our lives have been foretold for _centuries_ - there are legends, prophecies about us," he said, pausing for a moment to let everything sink in.

"You are the Once and Future King who will unite the lands of Albion and bring about the Golden Age, an era of peace and prosperity and _magic_, in which knights and sorcerers fight one beside the other, in which peasants and Druids live as neighbors," he continued, his voice growing stronger as he imagined the utopian world of his dreams become true.

He smiled softly, preparing himself for the last part of his explanation. "And I'm here to make sure that you live to see that day."

He inhaled deeply before extending his hand and murmuring a spell, his eyes flashing gold. A bluish light appeared between him and Arthur, floating gently before them.

"Arthur, _I was born to serve you_."

* * *

**I'm sorry for any errors or typos I missed, but I edited this in a hurry. **

* * *

(09-12-2013)


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